


Write Me Something Revolutionary

by tablemanners



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Blow Jobs, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Gay, First Time, Grantaire is a Mess, Guitars, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Modern Era, Musicians, Oblivious, Smut, music industry, super gay whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14992556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablemanners/pseuds/tablemanners
Summary: Enjolras is the manager for the very famous boy band Les Amis, and Grantaire writes their music. When Grantaire writes a sappy love song for their upcoming single, Enjolras is not pleased, as he would rather have something political. Through their disagreements Enjolras finds that Grantaire means a lot more to him than he previously thought.Aka Grantaire writes a love song about Enjolras and he's super oblivious but crushing on Grantaire Hard





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! I usually don't write in the present tense, so this is kinda new for me! I tried to keep it consistent, however if there are any tense shifts I'd like to apologize in advance! Also!! Believe it or not, I know essentially nothing about the music industry and recording, producing and releasing singles so this is not in any way factual in those terms. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

“Rewrite this,” Enjolras orders sternly, slapping a thick packet of paper on Grantaire’s desk. The other man lets out an incoherent string of curses, groggily lifting his head and squinting at Enjolras. Enjolras bristles when he catches a strong whiff of B.O. wafting off of Grantaire, who is clearly hungover. “While you’re at it, take a shower,” he adds, scoffing as he gazes down at Grantaire.

He’s a shabby man, there’s no doubt about that. His hair is flat on one side, matted down and smelling strongly of booze. On the other side, his curls seem to point in every direction, and he’s got dark, over grown stubble on his jaw. His firm, well defined jaw. Grantaire’s eyes are sandwiched between his caterpillar eyebrows and the heavy bags underneath his eyes. His eyes, colored like muck on the bottom of a pond, search Enjolras’ face for some sort of clue as to what he had just said. “I’m sorry, what?” He asks, his voice deep and groggy after being passed out for the last few hours. 

“The lyrics for the new single. Rewrite them.” Enjolras gestures to the papers he had just dropped on his desk. 

Grantaire’s face contorts into a frown. “Why?” He asks with a hint of agitation.

Enjolras sighs. He had anticipated a fight. “It’s too sappy. Les Amis doesn’t produce shallow music, we produce meaningful, relevant songs. Make it about… civil disobedience or something.” Of course, Grantaire laughs at that.

“Oh yeah, ‘cause the kids just love Thoreau. What’s next, Robespierre? Les Amis is a boy band, genius, not the next Public Enemy.” Grantaire gathers the papers up, his expression hard to read. His tone is mocking, but he’s not wearing the usual shit eating grin. He looks just a bit hurt. “These lyrics are good, okay? They’re anything but shallow.” Grantaire’s eyes flit down, unable to meet Enjolras’, which strikes him as odd. 

“Les Amis is very influential, their music should support meaningful ideals,” Enjolras has turned away from Grantaire now, exasperated. “Hell, they just finished a World Tour! Think of the change we could instigate!” 

Now Grantaire laughs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Apollo.” He straightens up the papers, looking at them fondly. “I want to show the boys my lyrics. We’ll let them decide if they like my work.” 

“I’m their manager! I don’t like the lyrics! When I say rewrite them, it’s not a request, it’s an order.” Enjolras breathes heavier now, realization flashing across his face as he watches Grantaire tense up. He had gone too far. 

“Get out,” Grantaire says, his voice weak. 

“I-I didn’t mean I don’t like the lyrics, your work is good, I just--”

“I said get out,” Grantaire repeats, “please.” The ‘please’ is soft, as though his voice might break if he speaks louder. 

Enjolras stands in silence for an awkward second, unsure of if he should say anything to Grantaire. Would a sorry suffice? Probably not, he had just insulted Grantaire’s work. Despite his low self-esteem, his work was the one thing Grantaire took pride in. And Enjolras just ruined that. Finally, Enjolras speaks again. “The lyrics are good, Grantaire. Just not for Les Amis.” No response. Enjolras sighs and trudges out of the room. So much for a general consensus. 

It’s a week later when Enjolras hears from Grantaire. They had planned to go over the finalized draft that Tuesday, before their awkward “fallout,” if you could even call it that. Enjolras had just assumed that was called off until they worked stuff out. He’s surprised when he receives the text at 10:00 AM that morning. “u late? @ the studio” it reads, accompanied by 12 different emojis. Enjolras nearly drops his phone as he first reads it, juggling the fragile thing in his jittery hands. 

After shooting back a text, Enjolras rushes to the studio to meet with Grantaire. It’s a private studio, just completed a month earlier. Les Amis’ popularity came with many perks. Enjolras unlocks the side door, quickly keying in the security alarm code before it goes off, and makes sure the door shuts securely behind him. The lights are dim, in fact most of them are off because very few people are working. The door latches shut loudly, the click echoing through the empty building.

Enjolras hears footsteps rounding the corner, causing his heart to speed up. He sees Grantaire, standing at the end of the hall with a snarky smile plastered on his face. “Way to be punctual,” he says loudly, making a show of looking down at the non-existent watch on his wrist, “you’re thirty-eight minutes late.” Grantaire looks good. Well, he looks better. He seems more radiant than he did the previous week. His hair looks soft, and Enjolras kind of wants to touch it, but of course that’s absurd. The loose tank top he’s got on shows off his built arms, and his facial hair is trimmed back in a surprisingly flattering way. The best part is he no longer has bags under his eyes. He looks healthy, and Enjolras takes note of the warm buzzing in his heart he feels when he acknowledges this. He had been worrying about the other man. 

Grantaire is staring at him with an expectant expression. Enjolras realizes he should probably address his tardiness. “Oh yeah, sorry,” he begins, walking forward to meet Grantaire. “I forgot. Um, I guess that’s pretty obvious, huh?” He says pathetically, trying to relieve some of the tension between them.

“Yeah, I can tell you were rushing by the way your shirt’s inside out,” Grantaire comments, eyes raking over Enjolras. 

Just great, now Enjolras is blushing. “Shit,” he mumbles with a strange frenzied frown, “whoops.” Without really thinking it through, Enjolras yanks the shirt over his head and flips it right side out. Grantaire just stands there, a bit stunned while Enjolras pulls the shirt back on and brushes out the wrinkles. “There we go, all good.” Enjolras forces a smile towards Grantaire, who looks a bit in a daze. “Fuck. That was weird, sorry,” he squeaks in a moment of realization. 

“No problem,” Grantaire manages to say. His voices cracks. “I set up in the second practice room,” he adds, turning and gesturing Enjolras to follow him.

The practice rooms are right down the hall, and a strong beam of light pools out of the one open door in the hall. The practice rooms are all good sizes, with a piano in every room and large, wall length windows facing out. Despite their newness, Grantaire has already trashed his designated practice room. Sheet music is tossed about, and spare pens and pencils litter the floor. The piano bench is not at the piano, but rather on the opposite side of the room with more stacks of paper on it. Grantaire beckons him in, searching the floor for a spare guitar pick. “I should have one in here,” he murmurs under his breath, squatting and running his hands over the wooden floors. 

Enjolras spots the fabled guitar pick a few feet away from the guitar stand, blending in easily with the floor due to its color. “I think I see it,” he announces, shutting the door behind him and finally walking into the room. Grantaire sits up to watch him, following his path and noticing the pick. 

“I can get that,” Grantaire lifts himself up and beats Enjolras to the pick, grinning in his victory. “Thanks Apollo.” He clears off a spot on the piano bench and encourages Enjolras to take a seat while he slings the guitar strap over his head. He plucks a few strings, adjusting the tuning keys on the headstock of the guitar.

“What, you didn’t tune while you waited on me?” Enjolras asks, a bit irked. Grantaire had had nearly forty minutes to prepare for him, yet he was just now tuning. 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I tuned, but I’m tuning again because I know how much of a perfectionist you are,” Grantaire explains, finishing up and strumming a g-chord. “Happy?”

“I’m not a perfectionist, I just--” he stops himself before another argument ensues. “Sorry, whatever, let’s get going.” Enjolras is tired and on edge. Being around Grantaire makes it a lot worse, and he’s not quite sure why that is. Grantaire nods, somehow getting the message that Enjolras isn’t in the mood fight. 

“Okay, so I mapped out the chorus and I was thinking something like this,” he begins strumming gently in a complex time signature, humming along to represent the vocals. Watching Grantaire like this is strange. Of course, it’s not the first time Enjolras has seen him playing guitar, yet every time he’s still enraptured by the man. He’s no longer infuriating. His callused fingers move across the neck of the guitar and he allows himself to smile. It’s not a smirk, but an actual, pleasant smile while he plucks out intricate chords and runs. He finishes too soon, and although it’s only the chorus Enjolras kind of wishes it was longer. “They’ll repeat that four or five times, probably. Depends on how long we want it to be. How does it sound?” 

“It’s good,” Enjolras concedes. “We’re thinking between three or four minutes for the run time, so you can adjust accordingly. I take it you also have the verses and the bridge?” 

“I was just about to get to that,” Grantaire says as his hands fiddle with the guitar. “So you’re cool with the chorus?” Enjolras nods stiffly in response. “You can relax you know,” the words shock Enjolras. He hadn’t realized his discomfort was so obvious. “I’m not upset with you.”

Enjolras adjusts his position on the bench, looking up to meet Grantaire’s eyes. Grantaire looks just as uncomfortable as he does, but his eyes are kind and his smile is welcoming. Enjolras’ heart feels heavy. “I really wasn’t trying to insult you.”

“I know,” he says with a hint of sadness in his voice. “Okay, so the bridge is more upbeat, kinda like this,” and Grantaire is strumming again, as though their awkward exchange had never happened. Of course, the bridge is brilliant, and so are the verses, but they had yet to directly bring up the lyrics. 

Grantaire is now explaining the bass line and the drum part, but Enjolras has stopped listening. He’s lost in his thoughts, his eyes trained on Grantaire’s lips. Of course, Grantaire realizes Enjolras has zoned out and stops speaking. Enjolras wishes he wasn’t so easy to read. “You good Apollo?”

Enjolras bristles at the use of the nickname. “Grantaire, we need to talk. About the lyrics.”

That shuts Grantaire down quickly. “Um, I was going to see what the boys thought about them. We could just try them out.” He’s nervous now, Enjolras can tell that much.

“I just don’t get it,” Enjolras begins, never breaking eye contact. “You’ve never been attached to any of the lyrics you come up with. What’s so special about these lyrics?” The dark haired man says nothing in response. “Maybe we can edit them together. Do you have a copy?”

Grantaire does. He reluctantly grabs a paper and sort of shoves it at Enjolras. “Here’s my shitty work,” he grumbles, panic in his eyes.

“Okay, we can start at the chorus. You’ve got: I want to be the one that makes you smile, I want to be the one that you can trust, I want to be the one you’re thinkin’ of, I want you to feel safe with me the way I feel safe with you. So I was thinking we can keep the ‘I want to be the one’s, but we can alter it to be, like, I want to be the one to speak out first, and go into revolution or something.” 

Grantaire snatches the paper back. “Can you maybe not do that?” He asks, his face bright red. “These lyrics are, um, personal.”

Enjolras frowns, watching Grantaire’s face morph into a mortified mess. “Are these about someone? Someone you like?” 

His eyes widen, pupils flitting back and forth anxiously. “Never mind,” he spits out unconvincingly, standing up to pack up his stuff. “So the music is fine, right? I’ve got to go somewhere, so… see ya Thursday I guess.” He’s out of the room suddenly and Enjolras’ mind is still reeling. Grantaire likes someone. That sends a shock of pain through his heart. Jealousy, perhaps? Enjolras shakes his head, putting it off as just surprise. Grantaire’s only love seemed to be his music and his liquor. 

Still, a part of Enjolras was curious. Grantaire never really discussed his feelings, and if his suspicions were correct, Grantaire put his heart into those lyrics. That would explain why he was so reluctant to change them. He wants to see the lyrics again, read back through them a surmise who they might be about, but Grantaire had taken the copy with him. 

He’d see him again on Thursday, though, when they meet up with the actual members of Les Amis. Perhaps they could fill him in on some gossip and help him figure out who Grantaire was crushing on. For some reason Enjolras felt he needed to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band gets together

Thursday is hectic. Marius flies in from New York late after his flight gets delayed. Jehan completely forgets and has to reschedule his nature cleansing. Joly is enrolled in med school and doesn’t want to miss Thursday’s lecture. The only “punctual” people are Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who are still and hour late.

“R!” Courfeyrac, the drummer, squeals when he spots the dark haired man. Courfeyrac is undoubtedly the most eccentric member of Les Amis, often wearing the heaviest eye liner and the skimpiest shirts. He tackles complicated rhythms and time signature shifts phenomenally though, and is said to be a prodigy. Combeferre, on the other hand, is drastically different. Although comfortably witty with a sarcastic sense of humor, Combeferre is much more reserved and has a background in classical music on the piano. Despite his efforts to lay low, he had become an icon for LGBT+ people in the black community. 

The appearance of the couple breaks the tension between Enjolras and Grantaire, who had been sitting in silence for the past fifty minutes. “Finally, you guys decided to show up!” Grantaire says with a hint of irritation. Any negativity quickly evaporates, however, when the two embrace. “How was France?”

Courfeyrac began to gush about he and Combeferre’s latest romantic getaway while Combeferre chose to speak to Enjolras about logistics. They were funny like that. “Have you heard from the others?” Combeferre inquires, settling back in one of the spare chairs.

At the mention of the others, Enjolras sighs. “Yes,” he begins morosely, “it’s been a bumpy ride. Joly’s seminar ends any minute now, so he’ll be here soon. I’ve yet to comprehend exactly what it is Jehan’s doing this time. And we can only hope for Marius. He’s stuck in New York with a delayed flight.”

“Splendid,” Combeferre mutters. “I say let’s wait for Joly then get started. The others can catch up, and R can stand in for Jehan on bass.”

Enjolras is just agreeing with they hear a ruckus outside their door. “Made it! Made it!” A faint voice calls, echoing in the long, empty hall. Joly bursts in, his hair tussled and disheveled. “I’m here,” he declares once more, leaning against the door frame as he catches his breath. Joly is a bit of a mystery. He’d always wanted to go into medicine, however gained fame after joining Les Amis. Despite his newfound wealth, Joly was still trying to pursue a medical career. “Sorry about my tardiness guys,” he huffs out, clearly exhausted. Of all the members of Les Amis, he is without a doubt the least athletic. 

Everyone is shocked at Joly’s surprise entrance, but eventually they begin to get into place. Courfeyrac grabs his drum sticks and heads to the drum set, Combeferre adjusts the levels on the keyboard, and Joly whips his electric guitar out and plugs it into the amp. Grantaire had retrieved one of the spare basses, he wouldn’t dare play on Jehan’s, and sets up with the rest of the band. “So you all got the music in that email we sent out, right?” Enjolras asks, settling in and shuffling some papers. They all nod, and Joly pulls out the chord sheet Grantaire had emailed. Combeferre, of course, has it memorized. 

“Does it have lyrics yet?” Courfeyrac asks from behind the drum shield, shouting to be heard. Grantaire looks up at Enjolras, a questioning look on his face. 

“Do we?” He asks Enjolras with a harsh tone. 

Enjolras bristles, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t want to make Grantaire anymore upset than he already was, yet he still hesitated to show them Grantaire’s lyrics. Finally, he speaks. “We’ve got a rough draft, it’s not final though. It depends on what you guys think.” Enjolras’ eyes shift to gauge Grantaire’s reaction. If he’s hurt, he’s good at hiding it. If anything, he seems indifferent. “I believe Grantaire has a copy if you guys want to see them before we start?”

They are thrilled, of course, at the prospect of reading the lyrics and Grantaire fishes them out of his bag. The three members of the band present gather around, taking in the song and squealing. “R, these are so good! I love them!” Courfeyrac says with great enthusiasm, scanning over the page a second time.

“They’re super sweet! Are they for anyone?” Joly asks, not teasing but genuinely interested because that’s just the kind of guy he was. Always supportive, never mocking. 

Combeferre on the other hand gives Grantaire a knowing look, raising an eyebrow in something akin to suspicion. He silences Joly and gives Enjolras a once over to see if he picked up on the same thing he had. Enjolras had not, of course, and was riddled by Combeferre’s reaction. “Why don’t we get started?” Combeferre asks instead, handing the sheet back to Grantaire for the time being. “The others will show up eventually.”

They do show up eventually. Jehan arrives fifteen minutes later, smelling of nature and looking homeless despite having a net worth of $47 million. He thanks Grantaire for not touching his bass and vaguely explains why he was late. Marius is last, finally arriving and hour after Jehan and apologizing profusely. It takes them a while to get him to stop apologizing, but when they do he’s eager to learn the new song. Everyone adores the lyrics Grantaire has written and express their excitement at the prospect of recording the new single. Enjolras doesn’t protest. 

Les Amis meets up every day to rehearse the single. It’s a bit tiresome, but they’re scheduled to record on Saturday and Combeferre insists on perfection. “Joly, I thought you said you practiced that solo,” Enjolras says disdainfully, flinching at the wrong note Joly had hit.

Joly looks away, embarrassed. “I did, but med school is demanding more of my time and I wasn’t able to--”

“One more week. One more week is all I’m asking, then I’ll take care of marketing, producing, everything, and you guys can sit back and relax. But for now, we need to get this right.” Enjolras begins pacing, a determined look on his face as he formulates a plan on how to get everything done in time. He’s tense, that much is clear, and Joly seems hurt.

“Lay off him, Apollo, he’s trying his best,” Grantaire says defensively. Enjolras jerks his attention towards Grantaire, confusion darting through his mind. He hadn’t expected the meager man to speak up.

He thinks about arguing back, maybe taking a jab at Grantaire, but something holds him back. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says before turning to face Joly directly, “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that Joly. We have time, just work on it a little bit more.”

Joly forces a smile, but everyone is baffled. Usually when Grantaire stands up against Enjolras’ regime, Enjolras verbally destroys him. Grantaire has a shocked look etched into his face, eyebrows drawn together, creasing his forehead while his mouth hangs open due to his lack of comprehension. Despite the confusion, the band continues to rehearse. Enjolras tries to watch his words. He feels pretty bashful after admonishing Joly.

Grantaire confronts him about it once rehearsal was over. “What’s gotten into you?” Grantaire asks. He’s backed him up in an empty hallway, arms crossed and less than a foot away. Enjolras doesn’t really hear him though. Instead, he’s focusing on Grantaire’s eyes, which are incredibly intense. Enjolras notices his stomach churning and feels as though he may start to perspire due to the other man’s proximity.

“I’m sorry, what?” He finally asks, blinking several times as he fully comprehends the situation. 

Grantaire frowns at the response. “I asked what’s gotten into you. You never snap at the boys, but even if you do, you never listen to me.” Grantaire’s stubborn frown is just a little bit frightening, and a little bit hot. Which was… a pretty weird thought.

“I do listen to you!” Enjolras objects, catching up on what Grantaire had said. “I listened to your lyrics, and you made a valid point, I was being too controlling.” 

Grantaire shuffles his feet as though he’s about to dart off. “Okay, well… you’ve just seemed off. Are you… stressed out or something? Care to talk about it?” 

He wants to laugh, but he realizes Grantaire has a point. He has felt a little off kilter, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the stresses of producing a new single or if it was because Grantaire liked someone. He thought about asking the other man one last time who he liked, or even loved, but it seemed a little suspicious to be that invested in his acquaintance’s love life. It was none of his business anyway.

“It’s really nothing Grantaire. Thanks for asking though.” With that, Enjolras pushes past him and scurries off. The whole encounter had left him a bit panicky, yet he still couldn’t pinpoint the awful feelings Grantaire was giving him. 

He tried to keep his interactions with Grantaire at an all-time low for the rest of the week, sticking to working the sound board while Grantaire worked directly with Les Amis. Grantaire had noticed, judging by the concerned, almost longing glances he had been giving Enjolras since their conversation earlier that week, but he never acted on his suspicions. Courfeyrac did, though. “What’s going on between you and Grantaire? Did you finally fuck?” He asks after the Friday rehearsal, sticking around while Enjolras tidies up the practice room.

Enjolras is startled by the question and nearly drops the mic in his hands. “Courfeyrac, what kind of question is that?” He asks, tripping over his words. A blush floods his face.

“So you guys did it?” Courfeyrac repeats scandalously. 

“No! Why would you think we…” Enjolras lowers his voice, “Why would you think we had sex?”

Courfeyrac sighs in defeat. “I don’t know, maybe because of the sexual tension so palpable you could cut it with a knife? Don’t tell me I’m wrong,” Courfeyrac has transitioned to gossip mode. Once he starts, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop. 

“I hadn’t really thought of it… all that much,” Enjolras tries, a look of discomfort plastered on his face.

“Sure, alright. We’ll ignore that obvious lie. So, are you going to make a move?”

Enjolras groans. “Courf, I said there’s nothing going on between us. We’re just busy and stressed, okay? Could you stop reading into it?”

Courfeyrac obliges with a doubtful grin, eyebrows lifted mischievously. “Alright, alright. See you tomorrow.”

Enjolras is able to breathe again once Courfeyrac has gone. His words really troubled him. Had he noticed Grantaire? He was sort of attractive, with his muscular arms, firm jaw line, killer green eyes and crooked smile, and his voice when he sang, crooning and heart moving. So maybe he had a type. And maybe that type was Grantaire. That didn’t mean anything, did it? Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify: Marius is lead vocals, Combeferre is keyboard, Courfeyrac is drums, Jehan is bass, and Joly is lead guitar. Just in case that was confusing.  
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be posted tomorrow evening, kudos and comments are welcome!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras sorts out a few things

After his talk with Courfeyrac, Enjolras is strung up. He finds himself worrying about what to wear and how his hair looks, which is very bizarre for Enjolras. Did Grantaire find him attractive? He wasn’t as “buff” as Grantaire, but was at least a few inches taller. His hair was lustrous and golden, framing his face well and curling up in tight coils. He had a strong jaw and painstakingly blue eyes. He supposed he could be considered an attractive man. But that’s beside the point; he wants to know if Grantaire finds him attractive. Which is stupid, he knows, yet it is still constantly nagging him in the back of his mind. 

He’s not the first to arrive at the studio. In fact, Enjolras is the last to arrive due to his new worry over what Grantaire thinks of him. It was nearly impossible to choose the right shirt, and this struggle made Enjolras late on recording day. “I am so sorry,” he announces as he pushes his way into the studio, “Sorry I’m late everyone.” Grantaire doesn’t look at him, choosing to continue adjusting the levels on the bass. The others direct their attention at Enjolras, however. 

“What took you so long Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asks with a shit eating grin on his face, eyes flitting back and forth between Grantaire and Enjolras. 

“I was just running behind,” Enjolras replies bitterly, hoping the blush forming around his neck won’t show. 

They go through some of the tricky sections of the song a few more times, Grantaire guiding them through it to make sure it’s as close to perfection as they can get it. It’s mesmerizing to watch Grantaire work with them. Enjolras tries not to get flustered when he watches Grantaire harmonize with Marius. Recently when Grantaire plays guitar or sings, Enjolras finds himself drawn to the other man like a moth to light. It’s become incredibly worrisome, especially after the comment Courfeyrac made had been circulating through his mind for the past twelve hours.

Once they feel warmed up and comfortable, they begin takes. The process of recording always seems to take a while, chasing impossible perfection and never knowing quite when to call it quits. During one particularly good take, Enjolras finds himself listening to the lyrics intently. With a little wishful thinking, it almost sounds like the lyrics could be about him—which is totally absurd, of course, and Enjolras recognizes this. It’s a pop song, and nothing more. Besides, Grantaire couldn’t like him. All Enjolras ever did was hurt his feelings. Enjolras recoils at that last though.

“I think that was the one,” Joly says joyfully and a bit breathlessly. There were nods of agreements from the rest of them, who were all laughing and high-fiving each other triumphantly. Grantaire agreed, patting each member on the back and exchanging an intricate handshake with Jehan. 

“What do you say, Apollo? Was that the one?” Grantaire asks. His eyes meet Enjolras’ with a fierce sort of determination, and if challenging Enjolras to disagree with him. Truthfully, Enjolras had zoned out halfway through while his mind pondered over what the lyrics could mean, and if maybe there was the slimmest chance that they could be about him. 

“It was good,” Enjolras replies, unsure of himself for the first time in a long time. Grantaire seems to take the response well and nods in appreciation. 

Les Amis begins to pack up their instruments when Grantaire approaches Enjolras directly. At first he thinks Grantaire is about to tell him that the song was really about him, and his heart rate sky rockets as Grantaire casually meanders towards him. He is let down when Grantaire says a simple “I’m heading out” and waves goodbye. Enjolras chastises himself for getting so worked up over Grantaire, but still feels a faint, excited flutter in his heart that won’t die down. One by one Les Amis make their exit, Jehan dramatically and Marius awkwardly, until Enjolras is left to call up marketing and the rest of the producers to drop the single. 

He stays in the studio for several more hours, because of course marketing is behind and of course the company wants to release it within 24 hours. Enjolras is able to reason with them, explaining how long it will take to finalize the recording, make it available to all media types, and produce however many cd’s and vinyl Sales thinks they need. They decide on the upcoming Friday at midnight, giving everyone involved one hectic week to sort everything out. Finally Enjolras packs up his things, ready to retreat into his apartment with some takeout and watch whatever shit reality tv show is on that night. 

Something stops him when he heads down the hall to the side exit closest to where he parked. A light, faint melody—the single—is being played from what sounds like the practice rooms on the other side of the building. Despite his exhaustion, Enjolras chooses to investigate. Some part of him hopes he’ll find Grantaire there. He makes his way to the practice rooms with an air of caution, constantly checking his surrounding with a heightened sense of nervousness. The music gets louder, so he knows he’s headed in the right direction.

The second practice room is cracked open, and a dim light floods the hall. Enjolras picks up on a voice. Grantaire. His heart soars, excitement and embarrassment and lust all filling his confused mind as the gentle, tender voice sings the simple chorus. He should show himself, alert Grantaire of his presence somehow, yet the temptation of listening in on Grantaire was too great. Enjolras stays against the wall, holding his breath as Grantaire continues to sing. He hears something strange in the song, whatever Grantaire is singling is clearly altered. Enjolras listens intently, and feels his face heat up as he recognizes the word “Apollo” in Grantaire’s version of the song. Shit.

Enjolras is incredibly embarrassed, as well as incredibly touched. Unsure of what to do, he rushes back the way he came while trying not to make too much noise. He knows he’ll have to confront Grantaire about it at some point, because… Enjolras stops dead in his tracks when he finally realizes it. He likes Grantaire. Not platonically, but romantically. And Grantaire likes him back. 

The single is a hit. Within the day of the release, the song makes it up into the top ten hits of the year. After a week, it’s number one. Enjolras feels stupid for initially wanting to oppose Grantaire’s lyrics, but at the same time incredibly relieved the whole endeavor is complete. Courfeyrac and Combeferre announce they’re holding a party for everyone involved—from the head of the record company to the studio janitors. Enjolras decides that with enough “liquid courage,” he’d be able to confess to Grantaire and then happily make out with him.

Dressing for a party is not one of Enjolras’ better skills. He considers calling Marius or Joly for advice, but they’d be intrigued by his new interest in dressing well. In a fit of desperation, he settles with a crisp white button up and black dress pants that are snug on his legs. Enjolras glances in the mirror, unsure of what he thinks. The shirt is definitely too formal, that’s for sure, so he unbuttons the top button. And then another. Enjolras heads out the door before he can change his mind about his ‘revealing’ outfit, preparing his mind for the teasing comments he knows he’ll get from his friends. He doesn’t care. He looks good. 

Despite his efforts to arrive at a reasonable time, Enjolras is twenty minutes early to the party. He blames it on the nerves. 

“You know the party is supposed to start at 7:00, right?” Combeferre asks when he opens the door to find Enjolras standing there, already sweating. 

“Haha, yeah…” he supplies, nodding at his watch. “Am I too early? I can help set up.”

Courfeyrac leaps over upon hearing the offer. “E, you’re a life saver!” He gushes, shoving a jumble of ribbon into his arms. “You’re in charge of the living room.”

Courfeyrac is gone before Enjolras can reject the ribbon, and Combeferre gives him a pitiful shrug. “Good luck buddy,” he says before trailing after Courfeyrac and reminding Enjolras to make sure he shuts the door behind him. Enjolras is unsure of what to do with the ribbon as he scopes out the living room. It’s a good sized room, with a large sofa and a coffee table in the center. They have a stone fireplace against one of the walls and several accent pieces and paintings strewn about. The ceiling is too high to tape ribbon on, so Enjolras spends his time pondering just what it could possibly be that Courfeyrac had intended to do with the ribbon. 

Courfeyrac reappears five minutes later with a troubles expression. “Enjolras, none of the ribbon has left your hands,” he says in an overly dramatic display of shock, his hands thrown up in awe. 

“Yeah, about that… where is this even supposed to hang from?” Enjolras asks while gesturing to the bundles of ribbon in his hands. Courfeyrac seems to realize what he means and looks a little shaken. 

After a good thirty seconds of deep though, Courfeyrac summons Combeferre to help them decorate the living room. “We really don’t need to decorate anything. We just need to finish up the food spreads,” he says instead, striking Courfeyrac down. Although highly offended, Courfeyrac surrenders and the three of them head to the kitchen to help Combeferre.

“So,” Courfeyrac starts, eyeing Enjolras, “Grantaire. Thoughts?”

Enjolras jumps, already jittery from the prospect of seeing him tonight and possibly confessing. “Very talented,” he replies evenly, doing his best to keep his breathing steady. Courfeyrac nods, although he doesn’t seem convinced.

“You know what I mean, E. Do you like him?” Courfeyrac can’t stop the smile that sneaks up as he brings up the topic of Enjolras’ non-existent love life.

Combeferre rolls his eyes. “It’s not a question,” he interrupts, shooting a stern eye towards Enjolras, “we know.” 

“Well duh we know, I just want to hear you say it,” Courfeyrac concludes, giving Combeferre a little punch on the shoulder for interrupting him. “So, you like him, right?”

“I mean, yeah…” Enjolras says faintly, not looking up from the sandwich tray he’s arranging. 

“Who do you like?” A stranger’s voice intervenes, amusement and mirth in her voice. Enjolras turns and sees a woman in all black with another tray of food. She’s got round, clear glasses, freckles, and a large mound of frizzy, natural hair drawn back in a bun. Enjolras is vaguely intimidated. 

“W-who are you?” He inquires in a polite but startled tone. 

The girls laughs. It’s a loud, joyful laugh that sort of makes Enjolras want to laugh if it weren’t for the fact that she was laughing at him. “Don’t look so frightened honey, I’m just teasing. I’m Musichetta, the caterer.” 

Enjolras lets a sigh escape and shakes her hand after she sets down the tray of food. Before he can speak to her, the doorbell echoes throughout the building. “Yes! More people!” Courfeyrac cries, bounding towards the door excitedly. A large group is waiting on the other side. Marius has come with his high school sweetheart Cosette, Joly with his close friend Bossuet, several of the producers, the social media coordinator Eponine, Jehan with his neighbor Montparnasse, and many others. What catches Enjolras’ attention is Grantaire, standing at the back of the hoard with an uncomfortable look on his face. His heart begins to flutter. 

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Combeferre says with a smirk as he passes by Enjolras on his way to greet the guests. Enjolras wants to refute him, but he also sort of appreciates the support. He’s sure it’ll be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I haven't really proof read, so let me know if there are any errors!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party!! And some other things

The night begins slowly, consisting of a lot of mingling and the consumption of small deli sandwiches. He notices Musichetta has started talking to Joly and Bossuet, and they both look a bit entranced. The head of the record company, Jean Val Jean, is keeping a careful watch on Marius and Cosette. It’s common knowledge that Cosette is his adoptive daughter, and that Marius constantly treads on thin ice. It’s around eight when things really get rowdy. Courfeyrac is properly drunk, as expected, and has set up beer pong on their coffee table. Enjolras, who has yet to speak with Grantaire, happily joins in. The more he drinks, the more the evening begins to blur together.

“You seem a bit tipsy, Apollo,” Grantaire teases. Enjolras looks over at the other man, surprised. 

“Grantaire! Funny seeing you here.” Wow. Real smooth. 

Grantaire chuckles at that, shifting to face the table. Enjolras is playing against Jehan and Courfeyrac, who are a bit of a power duo when it comes to beer pong. “Need some assistance?” Grantaire asks in a warm tone. Enjolras nods giddily, aware of how read his face has become.

They lose pitifully to Courfeyrac and Jehan, who do a dramatic chest bump upon their most recent victory. Enjolras is significantly drunker thanks to their charades, and he starts to giggle. “Grantaire, did you get a haircut?” He asks the other man, trying not to slur the words together.

Grantaire is nowhere near as drunk as Enjolras. This is not a matter of liquor consumed, but a matter of tolerance. And Grantaire has an incredibly high tolerance. “No?” He replies, clearly amused by Enjolras’ laid back attitude. “Does it look different?”

Enjolras nods, smiling and wrapping an arm around Grantaire’s broad shoulders. “It makes you look hot,” he explains with a serious tone of voice. 

“Why than you, Apollo,” Grantaire says in response, chuckling. He speaks to drunk Enjolras as though he were speaking to a very confused child. “Your hair makes you look hot as well.”

Enjolras nods at that, smirking. “Good.” He continues to make a fool of himself in front of Grantaire for another half hour before Grantaire excuses himself to go use the restroom. Enjolras is a little bummed he hasn’t gotten to confess to Grantaire yet, but anticipates the conversation with excitement. 

After waiting for Grantaire for a few minutes, he decides to look for him. Enjolras gets stopped by Courfeyrac, who demands a dance battle with him. Enjolras is awful, of course, and Courfeyrac is declared the winner almost immediately. Jean Val Jean is nursing a drunk Marius, much to his daughter’s amusement. Enjolras becomes trapped in a cycle of drunken conversations and awkward partying before he is able to continue looking for Grantaire.

Through his drunken stupor, he makes his way towards the bathroom and recognizes a slurred voice. Enjolras heads in the direction of the voice, stumbling into a guest bedroom and finding Grantaire. His excitement is replaced with hurt as his mind comprehends the other person in the room, saddled up against his Grantaire. It’s Montparnasse, Jehan’s friend. He presses Grantaire into the wall, sucking bruises onto his exposed neck and drawing out sensual moans from him. Grantaire’s head is thrown back, his eyes half closed as he breathes heavily. Enjolras must make some sort of noise, because suddenly both men are turning is surprise. Montparnasse’s gaze is hungry, eyes dark as he tightens his grip around Grantaire. Grantaire’s eyes widen when he spots Enjolras standing in the doorway, and his body goes slack against Montparnasse’s. Whatever he does next, Enjolras doesn’t see because he’s fleeing from the room as quickly as he can and begging the tears forming in his eyes to dissipate. 

Enjolras bumps into Eponine, who’s leaning against the wall and drearily holding a glass in her hand. She flinches upon impact, pulling her arm into her chest and glaring at Enjolras. “Watch it, buddy,” she scowls, clearly in a poor mood. Then she notices the defeated expression on Enjolras’ face, and puts two and two together. She wasn’t blind, and she had seen Montparnasse and Grantaire stumble down the hall together. “Oh,” she says softly, placing a hand on Enjolras’ shaking shoulder. “You too, huh?”

On a couch nearby, Cosette is sitting on Marius’s lap and hiccupping, holding his face in her hands while he stares up at her, entranced. The two proceed to giggle and cuddle some more, exchanging pecks and receiving disdainful glares from Jean Val Jean. 

Enjolras picks up on this and nods sadly. Eponine sighs heavily, turning away from the lovebirds. “Don’t worry E, you get used to it.” 

“But I-- I love him,” he says, slurring the words and wiping his bleary eyes. “I—never mind,” he mumbles before pushing himself away from Eponine and stumbling into the living room, searching for an exit. He needs to leave, get some fresh air or something. He fears he may throw up if he doesn’t get out of the party soon. Once he escapes into the humid night air, his mind replays the scene he had walked in on. By the time the vile begins to rise in his throat it’s too late to find a trash can, and the contents of his stomach are emptied onto an unlucky patch of grass. This startles Musichetta, who had come out a few minutes earlier.

“Shit, are you okay hon?” she asks, walking over to rub his back and hold his hair out of his face. “Need me to get you some water?” 

Enjolras shrugs her off, thanking her and apologizing for his behavior. “I usually don’t drink this much,” he adds, breathing heavily as he tries not to think about Grantaire.

“So it didn’t work out with the guy, huh?” she asks, leading him to a chair and helping him sit.

For some reason, he finds himself laughing. It’s sorry, self-deprecating laughter, but laughter none the less. “It sure didn’t,” he sighs, holding his aching head in his hands. “I need a taxi,” he mumbles, the despair in his voice tangible. 

Musichetta nods, reaching for her phone and dialing up a taxi. She helps him give the driver his address and promises to tell the others he’s left. He thanks her and curls up in the back of the taxi, allowing his mind to go numb as he focuses on not vomiting in the vehicle. He feels like absolute shit. 

The morning after Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s party, Enjolras has a killer hangover. The sunlight filtering in through his blinds causes jolts of pain to shoot through his head. His phones pings, alerting him of a message. “Shit,” he mumbles, rolling over to reach his phone. He scans the screen, recoiling at the message. It was from Courfeyrac, asking why he had left so early and if things had worked out with Grantaire. He ignores the message, instead turning on the radio and chugging the glass of water next to his bed. He nearly chokes on it when the next song to come on is the single. Of course it’s Marius singing it, and there’s no self-insert of his nickname, but just hearing it still hurts like a bitch. 

He hears the song again on his daily drive to the local coffee shop, once more inside the shop, and finally vows to avoid all sources of music when he hears it come on in the gym. He’s glad it’s such a hit, but it’s also incredibly emotionally inconvenient. 

Courfeyrac finds him sulking in his apartment later that afternoon. He had become worried after Enjolras ignored his texts and calls, and took it upon himself to check on the man. The loud knocking on his door is unpleasant, but Enjolras knows who it is immediately due to the intricate percussion part played out on his poor front door. “What’s wrong Courfeyrac?” He asks after opening up his door and letting the eager man into his apartment. 

“That’s my line!” He says, attentively watching Enjolras as he locks the door back. “You’re moping. What happened with you and Grantaire?”

Enjolras grimaces. “Do we need to talk about that?” He asks, agitation evident in his voice. 

Courfeyrac nods in response. “Yes we do, Enjolras. Because I know for a fact you like Grantaire and he clearly likes you back, which means you two can live happily ever after! So why aren’t you two making love right now?”

“Okay, first of all, that’s way too personal Courfeyrac. Please never ask that again,” Enjolras says bitterly, facing the other man. “And secondly, you’re clearly wrong about Grantaire liking me because he sure seemed to like Montparnasse a lot more last night.” 

Courfeyrac’s face goes slack. His eyes are filled with evident confusion as he mulls over Enjolras’ words, empathetic towards Enjolras’ plight. “You mean… him and Montparnasse? I mean, he was drunk, and Montparnasse is a bit of a scoundrel, it could have meant nothing.”

Enjolras slumps back onto his living room sofa. “Perhaps,” he says sadly, “but that doesn’t mean he likes me in that way. If he did, we would have been kissing, not him and Montparnasse.”

“You know, you’re shit at relationships. Maybe he just needed a push, and you didn’t give him a clear one.” 

“A clear push? What the hell does that mean?”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “I don’t know, some sort of invitation? A wink or a kiss or something?”

“You’re no help,” Enjolras replies stubbornly. Courfeyrac nods in agreement, apologizing before he stands up.

“I wish I could’ve helped,” he says one last time, wearing a sorrowful smile on his face. 

“You did help, Courf,” Enjolras assures, morose in nature. Courfeyrac smiles reassuringly before leaving, and Enjolras feels just the slightest bit of closure from his conversation with Courfeyrac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter will be posted tomorrow! Thanks for sticking around. Kudos and comments are appreciated :-)  
> (also sorry this one was a little shorter)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter!! The shenanigans end here  
> Warning: contains sexual content @ the end

It’s Wednesday when he gets the reminder from his phone. The loud ping startles him at first, and the words on the screen cause a wave of panic to shoot through him. “Fuck,” he hisses, comprehension causing his heart to race. There was a meeting with production, including all of Les Amis and Grantaire, on the sales of the single. Enjolras was going to have to face Grantaire without breaking down. He had had a good four days to move on, aka Enjolras was still super conflicted about how he felt towards Grantaire. He had hardly realized he liked the other man before he went and got his heart broken by him. Maybe it was simply a glorified crush, and he’d feel nothing when he saw Grantaire. Or maybe he’d make a complete fool of himself and overreact to the situation, as expected. 

He pays no attention to his dress this time. In fact, he’s hardly presentable when he marches into the meeting in his baggy sweats and his favorite red t-shirt. Combeferre gives him a questioning glance, but no one dares to say anything to him due to the negative aura surrounding him. Grantaire’s neck is covered, and Enjolras seethes as he recalls the reason why. Montparnasse must have been sure to leave plenty of marks on the other man.

It’s a difficult meeting, and all the while Enjolras feels like he’s suffocating. He’s not used to his heart clenching like it does when he sees Grantaire. Just a month ago, he considered Grantaire a worthless slob. Some of that was probably the initial denial of his attraction to Grantaire, but he had never felt so affected by the man’s presence before. It took everything he had to not bash his head into the table he sat at. 

Enjolras contributes absolutely nothing to the meeting. He slumps over in his chair and tries to appear decent, but the probability of him coming across as put together is very low. His gaze is trained on Grantaire, who looks unaffected by Enjolras’ bitterness. His hair is a little more unkempt than it had been the past few weeks, and his beard needs a trim, but his face remains neutral. Enjolras half wants to sneer and half wants to cry as he watches the other man, oblivious of Enjolras’ pain. That is, he thought Grantaire was oblivious to him until he turns and catches Enjolras staring at him with an upset look burned into his face. Grantaire frowns, his lips turned downwards as he tries to mouth a question over at Enjolras. Before he could ask anything, Enjolras turns away and tries to focus on the meeting at hand.

Although the meeting felt as though it lasted forever, Enjolras could not help but wish it would last a little longer. Upon the dismissal given by Val Jean, Enjolras realizes Grantaire is sure to confront him about his strange behavior.

“Apollo,” the familiar voice calls, clearly doing his best to catch up to Enjolras’ fast pace. He tries to ignore it, but Grantaire calls out again and Enjolras turns to face him. “Enjolras, what’s wrong?” He asks, searching his face for an answer. “Why were you glaring at me for the entire meeting? Did I do something to upset you?”

Courfeyrac’s words resurface in Enjolras’ mind. Maybe Grantaire just needs a clear push.

“Come with me,” he snarls at the dark haired man. In a fit of desperation Enjolras grabs his collar and drags him into the nearest empty room, backing him up against the wall. Grantaire recoils, looking frightened until Enjolras clenches his eyes shut and presses his lips against Grantaire’s. Grantaire is still for a second, eyes wide in shock and lips twitching into a faint smile. Enjolras pulls away, upset that Grantaire didn’t kiss back. He lowers his head, unaware of the confused smile forming on Grantaire’s lips. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I just… I don’t know.”

“Apollo, do you… like me?” Grantaire inquires, gripping his arm when Enjolras tries to flee. 

“I… yes, I do, alright?” He admits, eyes still focused on the ground. “I like you and I thought you liked me, but… I was wrong, I guess.” 

Grantaire is shaking his head, a smile still etched on his face. “You weren’t wrong,” he says instead, surprising Enjolras. “Enjolras, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember.” He’s sincere, and even looks a little nervous as he admits this. A blush reddens his tan skin and Enjolras feels his heart flutter.

“But what about Montparnasse, at the party? You guys…” Enjolras remembers, doubt creeping back into his mind. Grantaire looks confused.

“Who? Wait—oh shit Enjolras, I’m so sorry. That’s why you were glaring, isn’t it?” He unconsciously reaches for his covered neck, clenching the material uncomfortably. “I was drunk, and it ended as soon as it started. I didn’t realize what was happening, and… ugh, I’m not even sure why I accepted his advances.” He’s recoiled as much as he can against the wall behind him, regret stricken on his face. 

Grantaire tries to ramble on about how it was a mistake, but Enjolras has heard enough. “R?” He says, silencing the other man.

“Yeah Apollo?”

“Shut up.” Enjolras kisses Grantaire again, this time much less hesitant. Grantaire allows himself to melt into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ waist and pulling him closer. Enjolras lets out a hum of appreciation, running his own hands through Grantaire’s unruly dark curls and pressing up even closer to him until their bodies are flush against each other. 

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Grantaire asks quietly once they part for air, panting heavily against each other.

Enjolras chuckles into Grantaire’s neck, not wanting to remove himself from the other man’s warmth. “Maybe ‘cause we’re stupid?” He says in response, grinning when he hears Grantaire laugh at his answer. They’re silent for a minute until Enjolras continues. “Grantaire, I think I love you.” He’s holding his breath, eyes shut as he anxiously awaits the other man’s response.

“I love you too, Apollo,” he finally replies, embracing Enjolras in a hug. They stay in the room for another minutes before they pull their bodies apart. “So, wanna get dinner sometime?” Grantaire asks, breaking their silence. 

Enjolras allows himself to smile and reaches for Grantaire’s hand. “How about tonight?”

Grantaire eagerly agrees, closing his fist around Enjolras’. The two walk hand in hand out of the studio. 

 

\-----

 

The two have a great night out. Though they do bicker a few times, it’s always resolved by a compromise or a kiss. Grantaire shows Enjolras some of his art, and Enjolras is astounded by all of the sketches of himself. In return, Enjolras divulges his worries upon first hearing Grantaire’s lyrics, and the jealousy he felt towards whoever they were about. Grantaire gets a kick out of this, because the lyrics were about Enjolras, thus Enjolras was jealous of himself. “Why didn’t you just tell me sooner?” Grantaire asks once they’re comfortably snuggling on Enjolras’ couch in his cozy apartment. 

“Well why didn’t you tell me?” Enjolras retorts, mindlessly running his fingers through Grantaire’s hair.

“Are you kidding?” Grantaire huffs out, amused. “Apollo, you’re very intimidating.” 

Enjolras pauses, thinking that over. “Well, you’re intimidating as well.” They both laugh at this, and Enjolras can’t seem to stop smiling as he sits there, with Grantaire snuggled up against him. In fact, his face kind of hurts. He holds Grantaire’s head in his hands and turns it to face him. “Love you,” he repeats for the thirtieth time that day before leaning over and pressing a kiss on his cheek. 

Grantaire smirks back, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Instead of speaking, he pulls Enjolras’ head close to his and kisses him on the lips, strong and bold and warm. Enjolras loves it. He meets Grantaire half way for their next kiss, sliding a thumb underneath the hem of Grantaire’s shirt and pressing closer to the man. Suddenly Grantaire does something new and Enjolras lets out a startled moan. His face reddens immediately, embarrassed, but he doesn’t fight it. Instead he allows himself to melt into it, more moans escaping him as Grantaire gropes him.

Enjolras works Grantaire’s shirt off, smiling in appreciation as he runs his hands over Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire seems a bit self-conscious, ashamed of his lack of a six pack, but Enjolras just becomes more excited. Grantaire has a solid build, with dark chest hair and smooth tan skin. Enjolras loses himself a little. “Shit, you’re gorgeous,” Enjolras sighs, grinding up against his lover. Grantaire moans softly, fumbling with the buttons on Enjolras’ shirt. 

Enjolras helps him out, yanking the shirt off over his head and tossing it to the other side of the room. They’re both breathing heavily, rubbing against each other and mumbling declarations of love. “Grantaire, are you hard?” Enjolras asks suddenly, slowing down his grinding. He couldn’t help but pick up on the defined outline of Grantaire’s dick through his boxers while straddling him. 

“Are you?” Grantaire asks instead, eyes trained on Enjolras’ crotch. He’s pretty sure he can see Enjolras’ pants tenting up. 

“Um, yeah…” Enjolras admits, looking down. 

Grantaire smiles, trying to hold back his laughter at Enjolras’ bashfulness. “Don’t worry Apollo, I’m excruciatingly hard right now.” 

Enjolras hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he let out a sigh, smiling through his blush. “Haha, okay,” he says, looking back at Grantaire. “That’s good.” 

Grantaire begins to paw at Enjolras pants, struggling to get them off the other man’s legs. Enjolras does the same with Grantaire, until they’re both completely nude on Enjolras’ tiny couch. “Maybe we should move to my bedroom,” Enjolras suggests, eyes still focused on Grantaire’s body. Grantaire nods dumbly in agreement, gathering all his strength to stand up. The two awkwardly waddle towards Enjolras’ bedroom, but once they reach it Grantaire grabs Enjolras and lays him back on the bed. Before he has the chance to say anything, Grantaire is taking Enjolras’ dick in his mouth and caressing his chest. Enjolras bucks his hips in surprise, moaning loudly in response. “Fuck,” he cries, trembling uncontrollably.   
Grantaire grips Enjolras’ member firmly while he toys with it. He sucks the head gently, cupping Enjolras’ balls and shivering in excitement each time Enjolras moans. It’s a gorgeous dick, and Grantaire focusses all of his attention on it, licking and sucking until Enjolras is almost sobbing. Enjolras grips Grantaire’s hair, tensing up every few seconds and choking on his moans. Grantaire releases the cock with a ‘pop,’ wiping the spit off his chin and gazing hungrily at Enjolras. 

Enjolras wastes no time in grabbing for Grantaire. “I want to do you,” he whispers wholesomely, crawling across the bed until his face is right next to Grantaire’s dick. He reaches out tenderly and strokes it, watching as Grantaire’s expression melts into one of bliss. Enjolras gives a tentative lick, never slowing his stroking pace as Grantaire hums encouragement. Enjolras is a bit cautious, after all he’s never gotten this far with anyone before, and thinks of bringing this up. However when he looks down at Grantaire beneath him, face flushed and muscles clenching, he decides it’s really not all that important and that he’d rather make him moan some more. So Enjolras lowers his head and takes Grantaire in his mouth, doing his best to keep his teeth from brushing the cock. 

Enjolras continues this for some time, bobbing his head and allowing Grantaire to fondle him until Grantaire is pulling away from him and adjusting to a new position. “Come over here,” he beckons, his voice weak and cracking. Enjolras obeys, shifting so that he’s straddling his hips. Grantaire cups their dicks together and begins to stroke, eyes trained on Enjolras’ face. He lets out a small huff of air, surprised by the new sensation, and leans against Grantaire as he quickens the pace.

“That feels good,” he murmurs softly, gripping Grantaire’s back and trying to stop himself from bucking his hips. Grantaire says something in response but Enjolras can’t understand it because suddenly he’s moaning and so is Grantaire. He rests his head in the crook of Grantaire’s shoulder and shudders several times as Grantaire continues to stroke them, letting out small moans occasionally. “Shit R, I’m close,” Enjolras warns, thrusting his hips to meet Grantaire’s fist. Grantaire is moving with him, panting in his ear.

“Together?” He says, keeping up the pace. 

Enjolras’ head is a mess, unable to fixate on one thing. Everything smells like Grantaire, his sweat, his hair, his precum, and it’s intoxicating. He is able to pick up on Grantaire’s question though, and he nods weakly in confirmation. Grantaire tightens his grip and speeds up just a little bit more. “F-fuck,” Enjolras whimpers, and suddenly they’re climaxing together, semen painting their torsos and dirtying the bed. 

They’re silent for a minute, breathing heavily and lying against each other. “That was good,” Grantaire finally says, turning to smile at Enjolras. 

“Shit R, that was amazing,” he replies, cracking a smile. Grantaire can’t help but grin, and soon they’re laughing together, curled up on a wrecked bed with sweaty bodies and tired grins. “So, we’re like… dating, right?” Enjolras suddenly asks, facing the other man.

Grantaire seems taken aback. “Duh?” He says, smirking. “Of course we are, dummy.” 

Enjolras smiles, pulling Grantaire in for another hug as they slowly drift off together, warm and content in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! Thanks so much for reading. I'll probably go back and edit it at some point in the future, so if there are any errors please let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This will be updated every night, and will be completed no matter what!! As always, I love to hear from you guys so please leave kudos and comments!


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